


A Slow and Steady Dance

by audreycritter



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Here be blood, WIP, here be some minor OC death because assassins die, i got too invested i'm sorrynotsorry, let Jimmy grow up 2k20, ra's al ghul is a fucking asshole, rarepair based on a crackship joke, slowburn friendship to lovers, tw violence, where does this fit in comics canon? who knows! not me!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:08:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22023112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/audreycritter/pseuds/audreycritter
Summary: Jimmy Olsen has been working at the Planet with Lois Lane for a long time, and he's seen a lot of terrible and weird things.Then, he seesher.Talia al Ghul.
Relationships: Talia al Ghul/James “Jimmy” Olsen
Comments: 52
Kudos: 150





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is a rarepair based on a crackship that started as a joke, and then I got way too invested as usual, and I'm working on it on and off. It makes use of various bits of canon but I'm not bothering to make anything super consistent, more just referential. 
> 
> I'm working with the timeline that if Clark and Lois have Jon, and have been married a while, after working together first, and Jimmy was there when Clark started, that Jimmy has _also_ aged in that time, making him and Talia not that far apart in age. Anyway. That's an important thing to note.

The iced coke in his hand was beading with condensation in the overwarm air of the LexCorp charity gala. Jimmy Olsen watched Lois Lane pester a state senator for a comment. The camera slung around his neck already had photos of the important speeches. He resisted the urge to yawn.

These parties were always a bit of a drag, in his opinion. They weren’t exciting until they got _too_ exciting, the Superman Saves the Day kind.

Then, he saw her again.

The woman in green.

She was only ten feet away, holding a flute she wasn’t drinking from— her attention was on the senator Lois was hounding. Jimmy edged closer, his fingers tightening on the slick glass of coke.

He hadn’t missed her entrance earlier, because he was beside the stage with the other photographers, taking pictures of the crowd during a long speech about good causes and generous hearts (a bunch of baloney, if you asked him— nothing but LexCorp trying to save face).

The woman had entered the back of the ballroom alone, her burnished bronze skin catching the glow of the high chandelier like she was in spotlight. Or, maybe that had just been Jimmy’s imagination because _something_ about her had caught his eye. And then his attention was back on the stage when a new speaker was being introduced and if he showed up at the office without a picture of that handshake, Mr. White’d put him on social for months.

Once in a while was bad enough.

When he was close enough to speak without shouting, he cleared his throat.

“What’s a woman like you…doing…”

She’d turned to look at him as soon as he spoke, her green eyes flicking up and down him once like he was a cut of meat being evaluated at the deli. His tongue froze.

“Is that all?” she asked, languidly. He’d lost her attention already.

“I mean,” Jimmy stammered. “Do you know the Senator? I noticed you watching him.”

“Is he a Senator?” she asked, sounding unsurprised. She had an accent— faintly British, mostly something Jimmy couldn’t place.

“Well, yeah, I’d assumed that’s why you were—”

“Doing,” she said, with a tiny curl of her lip.

“Yeah,” Jimmy said with a bit of a laugh. “I actually came over here to see if I could take your picture. I’ve got orders to take pictures of all the important people here tonight.”

“What makes you think I’m important?” she asked. She put her champagne to her mouth like she was going to sip it, but she didn’t.

“Aren’t you?” Jimmy asked earnestly. He set his Coke on a nearby table and shook his hand with irritation, dried it on his slacks before taking up his camera.

“You think you’re so clever,” the woman said, with a pointed look. She sounded amused. The bracelet on her arm glinted when she brushed her hair back with two fingers, tucking it behind her ear.

“Listen,” Jimmy said, his hands stilling. He let the camera drop back down. “I’m on the clock, lady. I’m always working. I’ve never been what you’d call socially suave and I was shoved in plenty of lockers as a kid to prove it. I’ll take your picture for the paper, make sure I spelled your name right, and then I’ll be outta your hair.”

“No,” she said, her smile cutting across a mouth of perfectly white, perfectly straight teeth. “No, you may not take my picture.”

“Alright,” Jimmy said easily. “No problemo. That’s why we ask.”

“Talia,” she said. “My name is Talia.”

“James,” he said. He offered his hand to shake and didn’t try hard to keep the surprise out of his voice, that she was still talking. “James Olsen, but my friends call me Jimmy.”

“Jimmy,” she said. “You are with that woman? The reporter?”

She nodded toward the Senator and Lois. Lois had apparently worn him down and was rapidly scribbling in a notepad while he spoke.

Jimmy’s eyebrows shot up.

“Ms. Lane? Yeah, I’m here with her. I’m her photographer.”

“Hm,” Talia said. She studied Lois for another moment while Jimmy watched. “Is she nice?”

“Nice.” Jimmy choked on air. “You’re asking me if Lois Lane is _nice_? Well, I wouldn’t exactly say nice. But she’s good, alright. One of the best. And I don’t just mean at what she does. Why?”

“Personal reasons,” Talia said absently.

“Got it. You don’t like questions. That’s cool.” Jimmy wished he hadn’t put his coke down. His mouth was parched.

“Does anyone like questions?” she asked.

“Maybe the guy asking doesn’t mind ‘em so much.” Jimmy shrugged and grinned. “Or girl.”

He thought right there was the moment he’d killed the conversation— it wasn’t even really a conversation yet. He panicked, a breath forcing it out of him before the opportunity completely vanished. A no was better than a what if, at home alone with take out, anyway.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

“The bar here is free,” she said evenly, coolly.

“Yeah, I’m a cheapskate. Have a nice night, anyway.” Jimmy forced himself to smile with his joke. He hadn’t expected much more and he’d sort of bungled that up at the beginning anyway.

What he hadn’t expected was her to laugh, a short sound cut off by fingers pressed to her lips.

She turned to him, her green eyes piercing. She put a hand on his arm.

“You may buy me a free drink,” she said. “But I do not promise to drink it.”

“I guess that’s fair,” Jimmy grinned. “I did mean like, out, after this when I’m off the clock. I can gracefully concede defeat and grab you something. What’s your poison?”

She looked thoughtful.

Then she looked across the room.

“Pardon me, Mr. Olsen. I’m afraid something has come up.”

He peered in the direction she was, but couldn’t see anything noticeably amiss. He frowned.

“Nobody calls me Mr. Olsen. You can just call me–”

She was gone.

“–Jimmy. Huh.”

Where she had been a moment before, there was empty space. He scanned the room and the back wall for her but there was no sign she’d ever been there. The only proofs were the flute of champagne next to his coke glass on the long service table, the scent of rosewater, and the note he found later in his camera bag. How she’d gotten it in without him noticing was beyond him, but it was definitely from her.

_Mr. Olsen. Room 638 The Hilton. If the drink offers stands. 1am._


	2. Chapter 2

“James? You said your name was _James_?”

The exclamation came out with a shower of cheese puff dust.

“My name _is_ James! I panicked, okay?” Jimmy defended helplessly. “Chew with your mouth closed.”

“Oh my god.” Jon Kent flopped back on the bean bag chair and slapped a hand over his eyes. “ _James_.”

“Listen, pick up that controller and fight me,” Jimmy said, pointing at the abandoned console controller by Jon’s feet. The brawling game was paused.

“Uncle Jimmy,” Jon said, laughing and coughing. Jimmy nudged the tub of cheese puffs away from Jon’s reach. “I think I know why you’re single.”

“Hey!” Jimmy said, kicking at Jon’s socked feet that were floating in the air. “Listen, you twerp, when did you get so mean? Where’s the sweet Jonno who thought I could do no wrong?”

“Middle school,” Jon’s giggle turned into a grumble and an exaggerated sigh. “It makes ya grow up too fast.”

“Cheers to that,” Jimmy said, raising his can of Zesti. He took a long swig and muttered, “I have to get better drinking buddies than ten year old.”

“I’m eleven!” Jon crowed. His feet settled on the carpet again and he licked his fingers off and dried them on his jeans before picking up the controller. “So. Are you gonna go?”

“Go _where_?” Jimmy asked, mashing a series of buttons.

“Uncle Jimmy,” Jon said flatly. “I saw the paper in your bag when you told me to get the pop and candy.”

“You’re a little spy,” Jimmy said. He paused the game to tap the back of Jon’s head with his elbow. “You’re as bad as your mom and dad.”

Jon ducked from the teasing blow, laughing.

Jimmy sighed. “It depends on a couple things, like if your mom gets back in time. And _even if she does_ I’m not sure, because you’re practically still in diapers and don’t need to know.”

“So yes, but I gotta pretend I’m dumb if anyone asks,” Jon said. He unpaused the game. His onscreen character flipped Jimmy’s off a floating platform in a blur of blue and orange.

“No,” Jimmy said, with a chuckle. “It means you don’t know. Remember when I used to win sometimes?”

“You mean when I used to take it easy on you?” Jon looked sideways with a sharkish grin.

They played a few more rounds that Jimmy soundly lost, even if he would have argued it was because his head was someplace else. They were in the middle of a match Jimmy was winning because Jon’s fingers kept slipping on the controller when the sound of a key in the lock jerked both their spines upright.

“Your mom,” Jimmy hissed. “Bed like you’ve been there for an hour, go, go, _go_.”

A whoosh of air sent the cheese puff tub wildly spinning and Jimmy slapped a hand on it to get it to stop just as Lois tossed her stuff on the entry table and rounded the corner. Jon was nowhere in sight.

“It’s a school night, Jimmy.” Lois sounded unamused.

“He’s in bed,” Jimmy said, keeping his attention pointedly on the screen while he jumped around. The other character, unmanned, merely bounced in place under a flurry of kicks.

“Mhmm,” Lois said. “You’re just playing two player all alone.”

Jimmy paused and rapidly quit the game, rising to his feet. “No, it’s a CPU, I think the system’s just buggy? It’s been acting weird all night.”

“Not that I don’t appreciate you watching him last minute,” Lois said. She ran a hand through her hair and kicked her shoes off at the edge of the room. “I do. Appreciate it, I mean. You’re a lifesaver. Clark’s got some thing in…”

“Yeah,” Jimmy said quickly. “No problemo. See you at work tomorrow?”

“What’s up with you?” Lois leaned her head back out of the kitchen to fix him with a piercing gaze. “You usually try to stay and talk my ear off for an hour.”

“Nothing!” Jimmy said, grabbing his messenger bag. “I just, I’ve got plans, maybe. Maybe a date.”

“Jimmy. It’s midnight,” Lois said, an eyebrow raised. She disappeared fully into the kitchen, her voice disembodied as she called across the space. “I didn’t make you late, did I?”

“Nah, I’m not late yet,” Jimmy said. He tipped the Zesti Cola back to finish it off and somehow managed to miss his mouth— half of it sloshed onto his button up shirt. He stared glumly at it. “Aw, cheese and crackers.”

“There’s a stain stick in the laundry room,” Lois said.

“How did you…”Jimmy tipped his head back and sighed at the ceiling. “You can’t even see me. Are you sure Clark isn’t rubbing off on you?”

Whatever Lois mumbled under her breath from the kitchen was something he thought he probably didn’t want to hear, especially since it was followed by a snort of laughter.

“It’s fine,” Jimmy said.

“Sorry. I’ve been up too long,” Lois said, the back of her hand pressed against her mouth as she came around the corner. She raised a wine glass to him. “Have fun. Be safe.”

“Thanks,” Jimmy said. The shirt he could work around. He had time. He smiled. “Tell Clark I said hi.”

“Mhmm,” Lois said. “Thanks, again.”

“Anytime,” Jimmy assured her. “He’s a great kid.”

“Jimmy,” Lois said. “Take the stain stick.”

* * *

Fifty-seven minutes later, Jimmy Olsen knocked on the door to Room 638 on the sixth floor of the Metropolis 3rd Street Hilton. The door was propped open by the flipped security latch. He pushed it, tentatively. It opened on an empty standard double room.

“Hiya?” he called, stepping in.

His sense of danger had perhaps been dulled by years of working with Superman a yell away, because he felt no alarm stepping into the room that very well could have been a trap.

The room was definitely empty. He knocked on the bathroom door, and then pushed it open to a dark interior. Also empty.

Jimmy stood in the middle of the room, rubbed the back of his neck, and let the bottle of wine he’d brought dangle in his grip. He sighed.

“Aw, beans,” he mumbled, feeling stupid.

It had been a joke, certainly. Getting someone to prop open the door was the easy work of twenty bucks or so. He sat on the edge of the bed and tugged at his bowtie and crisp collar of the clean shirt he’d put on, then fell back onto the smooth duvet.

“You, Jimmy Olsen,” he said to the ceiling, “are a chump.”

The bedside phone rang. It rang again, and again.

Jimmy propped himself on one elbow and stared at it. It rang a fourth time and he snatched it off the receiver and held it to his ear, the coiled cord that still survived in hotel rooms stretching out across the floor.

“Hilton, room 638,” he said.

“Mr. Olsen,” the accented voice said calmly over the line. “You came.”

Jimmy sat straight up, his back rigid. He swallowed, hard, with a cough of nervous laughter. “Yep. On time, even. Are you, um, running late?”

If the wall had been close enough to bang his head against, he might have considered doing just that. He wished he could sound smart for a whole two minutes while talking to a gorgeous woman.

“No,” she said, unruffled. “Come upstairs. Room 4201.”

The line went dead. Jimmy held the phone until the disconnected tone jarred him into motion-- he set it down with a plastic click, and stood, feeling dazed.

The ride up on the elevator was a long, silent minute where he smiled at the other occupants, a man in a tuxedo and a woman in a red gown with a fur shawl. The man glared at him in return, but the woman looked disinterested and avoided eye contact. They stepped off a floor before his.

“Have a good night!” he called after them. They ignored him and he shrugged, jamming the button for the 42nd floor again for good measure.

The elevator doors opened on a hallway with geometric-patterned carpet in stark black and white. The doors were further from each other than on the lower floors, but he didn’t have to walk far to the left to find 4201.

He took a deep breath, raised a hand to knock, and froze.

There was a crash from within the room, the crack of breaking furniture, and shattering glass, a scream. His worry about a date fled, and he pounded his fist on the door.

“Hello? Are you okay? Talia?”

There was a muffled snap and then the knob turned. Jimmy stepped back, unsure of who or what was opening the door. The gap that appeared was only a few inches, and Talia’s face was visible, but her head was ducked down.

“Mr. Olsen,” she said, still calm as a lake in fair weather. “It’s a bad time, after all. Perhaps another evening?”

“What?” Jimmy exclaimed, bracing a hand on the door before she could shut it. “Who was screaming? Are you alright?”

“I’m–” Talia began, her head still bent.

“You’re _bleeding_ ,” Jimmy said, staring at the dark bead of blood on her cheek. “Who hurt you? I have a friend who can help, just tell me who did this. Is he still in there?”

“I am quite capable of taking care of myself, Mr. Olsen,” Talia said. Rather than icy, she sounded amused. “I doubt there is anything you could do that I haven’t already taken care of alone.”

There was an unspoken implication there, about Jimmy’s ability to hold his own in a fight. He heard it and ignored it-- it was a familiar dismissal, one he’d lived with most of his life.

“At least let me make sure you’re okay,” Jimmy said.

“You’re worried. You needn’t be. The threat has been dealt with.”

“Okay,” Jimmy said, fingers tightening on the neck of the wine bottle anyway. “You’re still bleeding. I can get some ice, find a first aid kit.”

“You are persistent,” Talia observed. The door had never opened more than those few inches, but she raised her chin and studied him. There was a cut by her eye, already swelling.

“Tell me to buzz off, and I’ll get lost,” Jimmy said, hoping she wouldn’t. Whoever had been in the room had done a number on her, and he didn’t like the idea of leaving her alone. “But I’d feel like a heel not staying to help, if you need anything. Gee, that looks bad. Gimme your ice bucket. I’ll run to the machine and bring it back. I don’t even have to come in. Want me to call the police?”

“No,” Talia said. “Wait.”

The door closed, and Jimmy waited, frowning at the glossy silver numbers on the polished wood. There was the clink of a sliding chain and then the door swung all the way open.

“There’s ice in the fridge,” she said, with a dip of her head in that direction. She was walking ahead of him, her back to him, and still in the green dress from earlier. “I’m going to change.”

The hotel suite was large. Plush carpet ran the full length of a long living room, lined with floor to ceiling windows on one side. The view overlooked the glittering, neon city-- the Daily Planet with its spinning globe lit by bright white, the glowing blue strips up the corners of the LexCorp building, the dark reflective glass of the First Federal Bank tower lit up like a laser show.

Jimmy stood staring at Metropolis, taking it in, before starting and turning to find the kitchenette. Some of the sleek living room furniture was tipped over, a coffee table broken into a thousand shards in the carpet. A couch was slashed, cotton batting sticking through.

“Holy moly,” he breathed, picking his way around the mess.

The kitchen wasn’t a kitchenette-- it was a full kitchen, with a stove and oven and refrigerator. There was a marble-top island, a few drawers pulled out and one broken off it’s tracks.

One of the open drawers held a little box of plastic baggies. He set the wine on the counter and plucked a baggie out from the roll, and went around the island to open the fridge.

There was a body on the floor, a knife sticking out from its throat. A mask obscured the face, and any horrified or pained expression he might have been making.

“Talia?” Jimmy called, feeling sick.

“Yes, Mr. Olsen?”

“It’s Jimmy, actually, you should just call me…Jimmy,” Jimmy said, swallowing hard. He couldn’t take his eyes off the knife, the pooling blood, the stained handle. “There’s a body in here.”

“Yes,” she called back. “It’s nothing to worry about. They’re dead.”

“I…okay. Dead. Dead isn’t the worst.” Jimmy tore his gaze away and pressed the bag against the ice dispenser in the fridge. He sealed it, mechanically, and stepped over the body, trying very hard not to think.

He wandered toward the door Talia had disappeared behind. It wasn’t closed, but he rapped gently with his knuckles anyway.

“Ice delivery,” he said, the words sounding hollow to his own ears.

There was a sniff and he leaned forward, quickly, just to see Talia wipe the corner of her eyes with the back of her hand, the first joint of her first finger. She took in a sharp breath and turned fully to face him, with a placid expression. Her makeup was a little smudged.

“Thank you,” she said, accepting the ice.

“Are you…are you okay?” Jimmy stammered. “It’s just, there’s a body in the kitchen, and uh…did he attack you?”

“Just the one?” Talia asked, raising an eyebrow. She paused by him, and put a hand on his cheek. “You’re upset. You aren’t used to blood?”

“Uh, no,” Jimmy said, shaking his head. “I’ve, well, I’ve been Lois Lane’s photographer for a while. It’s not the blood so much as what comes with the blood.”

“What is that?” Talia asked, brow creasing.

“Suffering,” Jimmy said bluntly. If she hadn’t touched him, maybe he wouldn’t have dared, but he raised his hand and rubbed his thumb along the skin near the cut on her face. “Blood usually means suffering.”

Talia smiled, thin and uncertain, and raised the ice pack to the swelling cut. She slipped past him into the messy living room. Jimmy turned, to watch her, and didn’t notice the feet twitching behind the second low couch until she stopped behind it, standing over someone.

She hissed something low, crouched down out of sight. A rough voice, thick and gurgling, murmured something in return and then there was a wet _snick_. Talia rose, with blood splatter on her face.

“We have to go,” she said.

Jimmy turned and threw up in a decorative vase.

When he righted, she was looking at him.

“You should go,” she amended.

“No, I’m okay,” Jimmy said. “Just needed a second, is all. Gee whiz, did you just kill that guy?”

“He knew the price for failure,” Talia said evenly. “It was a death with honor.”

“Failure to do _what_?” Jimmy gaped at her. He stumbled a step sideways, tracking her movement across the room, and reached for a camera that wasn’t there. He just wanted to hold the familiar straps in his hands.

“To kill me,” Talia said, as if this were perfectly reasonable.

“Who’s trying time _kill you_?” Jimmy demanded. “Why?”

“It was a test. I thought my father trusted me enough that we were beyond such tests, but that was foolish on my part. The lesson has been learned.”

“Your _father_ ,” Jimmy exhaled, sitting down on the torn couch. “Your father sent…assassins…to kill you…”

“Yes,” Talia said. “And now I must leave. If you would like to avoid trouble, I advise you do the same.”

“Won’t the police…aren’t there prints? Everywhere?” Jimmy asked, looking around. Talia was standing in front of a mirror in the living room, wiping blood off her face.

“No,” Talia said. “My father’s people will be watching the ones he sent. They will come to clean everything, and if we’re still here, one might try again in hopes of securing his favor.”

“I don’t know what kind of father you’ve got,” Jimmy said. “Mine didn’t like me that much, but he didn’t want me dead.”

“Mr. Olsen,” Talia said, with a pitying smirk. “It isn’t because he wants me dead. It’s because he wants me to be the best. I am, or I’m not. It’s that simple. If I can’t handle a few assassins, then I don’t honor him by being alive. These men would not have thanked me for sparing them-- Reznyek pled for an honorable death, and nothing more.”

Jimmy thought she sounded like she fully believed this, but it also sounded recited, like some sort of long-rehearsed creed. He decided not to bring it up in conversation at the moment.

“Did you give him one?” Jimmy asked, his stomach rolling again, hearing the _snick_ once more in memory. He convinced it to calm down.

“Yes,” she said softly, not looking at him. “He failed, and he didn’t deserve it. But I gave it to him anyway.”

“Why?” Jimmy asked. He didn’t know why he was asking, anymore than he knew why picking up a camera filled him with joy, or why following Lois around while she dug answers out of stories was one of the most satisfying things in his life.

“My father may not be right about all things,” Talia said. She flicked the cloth she’d been using onto the remains of the coffee table.

Jimmy got to his feet, and squared his shoulders.

“Well. Have you eaten since the gala? Can I buy you dinner?”

“You want to buy me dinner,” Talia said, raising an eyebrow. Jimmy got the impression she was looking at him with real interest for the first time. “I will not be having sex with you, Mr. Olsen.”

“It’s Jimmy,” Jimmy said, blushing. “And I’m not asking for…that. Just some burgers, or whatever you want. You’ve had a rough night.”

“You don’t want to run screaming?” she asked, with a teasing glint. He trailed her into the kitchen, where she found a first aid kit. She rummaged through it while he spoke.

“My life is pretty weird,” Jimmy said. “I’ll give it a few more hours.”

“I will accept dinner, on one condition,” Talia said, spreading cream on the cut near her eye.

“Sure, name it,” Jimmy said quickly, taking a bandaid and ripping it open. He handed it to her.

Talia pressed it into place and then looked him full in the face. “When you regret this in the morning, you tell no one.”

“Easy,” Jimmy said, while he was screaming inside and as certain as the sky was blue. “I won’t regret it.”


	3. Chapter 3

“This place is always open late,” Jimmy said, leading the way into a narrow restaurant with a line of booths and a line of little round tables. There was also a bar, but he went for a booth.

“Not here,” Talia said, when he gestured to the bench. 

“Not here,” Jimmy repeated. “Sure. You got it. Not here as in the joint, or the table?”

He surveyed the room and turned to her. She was gone. With a start, he spun and found her. His heart did a funny skip at the panic of being abandoned and then finding out that wasn’t the case, all in the same second.

Talia sat in a booth with her back to the wall, in the corner of the room. Jimmy took the seat beside her instead of across from her. She raised an eyebrow at him.

“I don’t want to block your view,” he said amicably, shrugging toward the two doors in their line of sight. “The noodles here are great. Planet staff comes here a lot, when we’ve held the press back on late nights.”

There were paper menus on the table, beside the salt shakers. He slid one over to her, pinched against the slick surface with his thumb and forefinger. 

“Uh, it’s, it’s on me, of course. That’s traditional for a date, right?” he ventured.

“Is this a date?” Talia asked coolly. 

“You did invite me for drinks,” Jimmy said, heart pounding in his ears. By some miracle, he managed to maintain eye contact and not melt into a pile of tomato-colored goo. “And then I asked if I could buy you dinner. But, um, it doesn’t have to be.”

“Let’s leave it undefined for now,” Talia said. 

“Fine by me,” Jimmy said, hoping he came off as casual and not peeved. He wasn’t peeved. He was thrilled. It hadn’t been an outright _no_. “The Spank noodles are great, if you don’t mind spicy.”

Talia’s expression, which had been unnaturally calm and collected since she’d stood in the destroyed kitchen wiping blood off her face, now flickered with something like incredulity.

“The Spank noodles,” she repeated flatly, the name sounding even more absurd with her refined and polished accent.

“Yeah,” Jimmy said, rubbing the back of his neck, mulling over the inherent awkwardness in being dulled to something’s oddity by frequent exposure. Why had he suggested _those_? Why were they his favorite? Why had he picked _this restaraunt_? 

“They’ve got a bit of a kick,” he said cheerfully. Life was too short to sulk over hiccups like this. “Like rocket fuel. They’re named after Eugene “Spank” Williams, the first Metropolis man on an Apollo mission. See, it says it right here…” Jimmy trailed off, leaning closer to her to study the menu she had. He tapped with a finger at the menu item and the description in italics.

“I see,” Talia said, in that same faintly bemused tone. “Perhaps you ought to order for us.”

“Sure,” Jimmy said. “I’ll be right back. It’s an order at the counter kind of joint after midnight.”

When he returned, with glistening cups of ice water in his hands, Talia was staring intently at one of the doors.

“Something up?” he asked, looking in the same direction.

“No,” she said decisively. 

He jammed a straw into his water and took a long drink. Adrenaline had been sustaining him until now, and he hadn’t realized how disgusting his mouth felt or how parched he was. He glanced sideways and that’s when he registered Talia’s stare not as intense, but absent. She was exhausted, if his guess was correct. 

“We don’t have to stay long,” he offered. 

“I wasn’t planning on it,” she deflected easily, rousing to more actual alertness rather than just a mask of it. “Did you say you came here often?”

“On and off,” Jimmy said, with a shrug. “Usually with Lois or Clark. Sometimes with Rojas from copy desk or Kim from sports desk. But lots of people come in from the Planet, even if it’s not with me. You see that guy over by the jukebox?”

Talia nodded, carefully and deliberately peeling the wrapper off her straw as if the motion was an unfamiliar one.

“That’s Charlie Shumaker. He’s in obits and hates my guts.”

“You don’t seem like the kind of man people hate,” Talia commented.

Jimmy looked at her quickly to see if she was making fun of him. People usually were when they said things like that, and he’d learned to not let it get to him. But most of them had the decency to not do it while on a date with him, or at least wait until they’d broken it off if they _had_ gotten involved.

He couldn’t detect any humor, though, so he decided to accept it at face value. 

“Oh, _lots_ of people hate me,” Jimmy said, without rancor. “Obit especially, because I’m the only person they’ve ever had to print multiple retractions for.”

“Have you died?” Talia asked, with a spark of genuine interest that tugged her briefly out of her subdued and detached state.

“Oh, not _really_ ,” Jimmy said. “Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated, and all that.”

“Hm,” Talia said.

“What do you do?” Jimmy said, just barely keeping himself from adding “When you aren’t killing assassins.” The nervous giggle that would have accompanied that escaped anyway, and he took an anxious, long gulp of his ice water, bypassing the straw. Maybe the adrenaline hadn’t worn off as much as he thought.

“International matters,” she said vaguely, and this was the moment Jimmy began to feel _really, actually_ in over his head. 

“Right,” he said. “You don’t like questions. Do you like asking them?”

“It depends on the question,” Talia said. “And the answer.”

“That’s fair,” Jimmy said. “Some questions aren’t ones you ever want to ask, like _how long has this been in the fridge?_ and some questions only have bad answers, like _what are you doing with that vat of poison by the city water system_? Nobody ever has a good answer for that last one.”

This, surprisingly, got a small smile out of Talia.

“Yes,” she said. 

Maybe it was mentioning poison, but his attention flicked to her glass of water. The straw was unwrapped and sitting in the water, but it was as full as when he’d brought it to the table. He started to ask, the syllables tripping over his tongue, and he tried to stop himself at the same time, so for a moment she stared at him while he babbled meaningless sounds. The sounds cut off abruptly and he stared at the table in consternation, and took a deep breath.

“The water here isn’t that great. I’m going to grab a bottled water; do you want one?”

“Please,” Talia said, with a polished politeness that was so _correct_ and precise that it reminded him of his sister’s high school role in Pygmalion. He wondered what kind of upbringing led to upper class manners and routine assassination attempts. 

When he stood, someone came from the kitchen and dropped two bowls on the counter.

“Order 37 up,” the man called, not even bothering to look around the room before disappearing again.

Jimmy grabbed the bowls, and then the bottled waters from a self-serve cooler, and returned with it all balanced precariously in his arms. He slid her bowl and water to her, and mumbled, “Oh, shoot,” and left again for silverware. 

Talia was watching him carefully when he sat back down.

“You’re more perceptive than you seem,” she said, twisting open the water bottle. The little safety seal gave way with tiny plastic _snicks_. She drank half of it down at once.

“I’m a photographer,” he said with a shrug. “Details are kind of my job.”

There was something else in Talia’s expression now, something like the curiosity from earlier at the gala. Her green eyes flicked up and down, taking him in.

The gala. That had been just _hours_ ago. Jimmy suddenly felt exhausted and _that’s_ when he knew the adrenaline had dropped. He yawned and spun a forkful of noodles into a bite.

She didn’t eat until he had swallowed. He wondered if she’d switched their bowls when he’d gone back for silverware and found he didn’t mind very much if she had– she seemed like the kind of woman worth dying for. 

That thought slowly, laboriously processed after it flashed through his mind.

And _that_ was the moment Jimmy knew he was an absolute goner.

“How long have you been Lois Lane’s photographer?” Talia asked. She must have recognized his invitation for what it was, even if they’d gotten sidetracked.

“Oh, man,” Jimmy said. The wall across from him had a framed picture of Jackie Chan. He stared at it, thinking, counting back on mental fingers. “Geez. Uh. A long time, I guess. Let’s see. I was 17 when I begged Mr. White for a job. I started as an intern, and she wasn’t really _big_ yet, but I think we all knew she was gonna be if she didn’t get herself killed first. I don’t remember exactly how we got paired up, maybe just chance. She liked a picture I got when she was on a story about embezzlement in the mayor’s office. And then she just kept yelling, ’Jimmy, you’re with me,’ every time she ran out the door.

“I don’t think the other staff photographers especially liked being dragged along with _her_. She always gets stories, but it’s not exactly, well, _safe_ , and Des, who is kind of actually, really crazy, wasn’t there yet. Then she got the Superman scoop and well, we were sort of a team by then.”

Jimmy stopped, aware that he was rambling and that he also hadn’t answered her question.

“You like questions,” Talia observed, with a glimmer of amusement.

“If they’re the right kind,” Jimmy returned with a grin, relieved she didn’t look obviously bored. Maybe she was too polite to let it show, but he didn’t think she was the type who’d save face just for him. “It’s been about twenty years now. Wow. I think that makes me _old_.”

Talia raised an eyebrow and Jimmy sighed dramatically before she could comment.

“I’m cursed with baby face,” he confided with exaggerated seriousness. “The last time I got carded, they accused me of using a fake ID. It’s embarrassing.”

“What a burden for you,” Talia said. 

She said it like she was in on the joke, and for some reason, this made his heart do a funny little hop. He ducked his head toward his noodles and shoveled a few bites in.

“How’s your food?” he asked around a mouthful. “I’ll get you something else if it’s not your speed.”

“They’re interesting,” Talia said carefully. “This isn’t exactly what I would call spicy.”

“Really?” Jimmy asked. His eyes were watering. “Huh. I wish I’d gotten some milk.”

“I am accustomed to a bit more spice,” she said, sounding suddenly, oddly familiar in a way he couldn’t quite place.

“Well. That’s two things I know about you,” he said. “You like _really_ spicy food and you can take care of yourself.”

“That’s a more…generous perspective than I expected from you, Mr. Olsen,” Talia admitted. “You continue to surprise me.”

“I hope they’re good surprises,” he said. 

“So far,” she said. “Do you have more? Can you take care of yourself?”

For a long second, Jimmy’s brain got stuck on the fact that she was genuinely asking him _and do you kill assassins in self-defense?_ because what was she supposed to think when he was doing his utmost to be chill about it. 

Finally, he managed a little shrug. “Not really,” he said. “Usually Superman takes care of me, when I’m in a pinch. He’s kind of a good friend.”

Talia choked on water and pressed a napkin to her lips.

“You really aren’t from here, are you,” he asked, carefully going for rhetorical in tone. “That’s kind of my _thing_. Well, my other thing, when I’m not Lois Lane’s photographer. ‘Superman’s Best Friend,’ and all that. That’s what the papers say, anyway, and it kind of stuck, but I’m not really his _best_ friend. Just a pal.”

“A pal,” Talia echoed, with the oddest expression. “How well do you know him?”

“Well enough,” Jimmy said, with intentional lightness. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had tried to worm information about Superman out of him. It made his chest ache a little to realize the night was going that way. He didn’t resent Superman for a _minute_ , but sometimes people– even ordinary, well-meaning people– could get weirdly focused on this topic. He couldn’t quite blame them. Superman was _incredible_. But he did regret bringing it up.

Then, to his utter surprise, Talia dropped it entirely. Kind of.

“I take it you aren’t a fan of Alexander Luthor,” Talia said.

“Lex?” Jimmy asked, trying to think if he’d _ever_ heard anyone call him _Alexander_ since his father died. His father used it exclusively to disparage Lex, like some sort of strange, patronizing insult. “Not much. He’s a bit of a creep. I’m kind of glad he’s in jail. I thought LexCorp was going to make some big announcements tonight, to be honest. That’s why Lois and I were even there. The social crowd isn’t our usual schtick unless there’s also real news.”

“You don’t hold the same criticism of the company,” Talia said. 

Jimmy frowned, trying to figure out where this was going, and feeling even more out of his depth than before. He decided to go for honesty. 

“Whatever Lex says, he’s not the company, and the company isn’t him. It’s too many jobs in Metropolis to shut it all down. The company’s made up of a lot of _people_ , and with the right direction they could do a lot of good here. That’s all Lois– that’s all I’ve– ever cared about. He has a responsibility to care for the city, and his people, and it was almost always about what _he_ could get out of it. Someone else could do better, I know it.”

“Those are lofty expectations for someone in a multi-billion dollar industry position,” Talia said smoothly. “I understand most people don’t climb that high by being selfless.”

“Yeah,” Jimmy conceded. “But someone could.”

“You really believe that,” Talia said, as if surprised.

“I think powerful people can still make the right choices,” Jimmy defended. He shoved his empty bowl back a little and twisted to look at her. She was searching his face, not patronizing or pitying. “Just ‘cause most of ‘em don’t doesn’t mean it’s impossible.”

Talia’s hair framed her face, and she looked tired and for a moment, very old. The bandaid on her cheek didn’t match her skin tone, and it stood out like a pale scar. Purple bruise was creeping out around it, spreading across her cheek. 

But there was _something_ about her, something still proud and collected. She didn’t look like a woman who had been beaten by assassins. It made Jimmy’s breath catch in his chest and he didn’t care that he was staring, or think about how dumb his face must look. 

“God, you’re beautiful,” he said, and it slipped out before he thought it through but he’d be damned if he took it back. 

Her expression betrayed her surprise with just a lift of her eyebrows.

“I hope that’s not creepy,” he stammered. “I’m not trying to make you feel weird. It’s just, well, it’s true.”

“Thank you for dinner, Mr. Olsen,” she said. His heart sank. “Perhaps I’ll see you around.”

Hope burst in him like fireworks.

“Could I get your number?” Jimmy asked, as she stood. She paused and he dug in his pocket. “No, no, forget that. I’ll give you my number, if you’ll take it.”

“I don’t need your number to find you again,” she said. 

Jimmy thought that sounded scary and positive. 

“You can call me Jimmy,” he said, standing. “Are you sure I can’t walk you, well, wherever you’re going next?”

“I can, as you noticed, take care of myself,” Talia said, with that amusement that was now growing familiar. It was sardonic, but not mocking _him_ somehow. He wished he could make her really actually laugh. 

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Jimmy said, nodding. “Well. Good night, then. Thank you for uh, letting me take you out.”

“Good night, Mr. Olsen,” she said, and then she kissed his cheek.

Jimmy’s brain shorted out and by the time his head cleared, she was gone. 


	4. Chapter 4

Talia didn’t make a habit of feeling guilty over using people. It was impulse to feel it, and habit to quash it down. She couldn’t afford to be crippled by self-recrimination, not if she wanted to stay in her father’s good favor.

He was very, very old and very, very skilled. He demanded perfection and it was her job to live up to that. She wasn’t a fool– she knew she wasn’t the first of his children and she likely wouldn’t be the last. He didn’t speak highly of many of the ones before her and once upon a time, she had been determined to be remembered well.

Now, she would settle for simply not letting him down.

Those who disappointed him did not fare well.

When she was younger, she dared to hope he might be _pleased_ with her. Now, they’d gone enough rounds that she knew she lacked certain criteria to ever really hold his attention, and the best she could hope for was to stay on his good side. That kept her alive, at least.

She was not currently on good terms with him. However, _he_ wasn’t aware of that, and the longer she kept him from knowing she harbored ill feelings toward him, the better off she was. He assumed her desire for his approval remained as steadfast as it once had been, and she was safer if he believed that.

Her resentment was a selfish thing, possibly undeserved. The world was a cruel place and Ra’s had prepared her for it. She gave him credit for that, at least. He had trained her and cultivated her survival skills when he could have ignored her entirely. She had just learned the hard way that he prioritized many things above her happiness. Talia wasn’t sure some days that he was wrong.

Ra’s had been pleased when she’d fallen in love with the Bat, and Talia had felt, briefly, that perhaps she would be okay.

It was rare that her wishes coincided with Ra’s.

It had been a mistake to be so happy.

When Ra’s hinted firmly that a grandchild would be an ideal seal to their families’ young bond, she had been all too happy to oblige. Even if the Bat wasn’t thrilled, she knew he hungered for family, and he drank in Ra’s approval even while resenting him and his methods.

She hadn’t anticipated how _excited_ he would be. His plans to settle down grew, and Ra’s distrust and wariness grew with them. She had known before he summoned her that he was going to interfere.

At the time, she was relieved he only asked her to lie, and not something worse.

It broke her heart, but she quietly packed the pieces away and wiped off her face and kept moving forward. Ra’s would do worse than merely forget her or let her go if he knew how weak she was. She had come to the realization that her father had used her, and he wasn’t a man who liked to share with others, not even his leftovers.

She laid awake every night after Bruce left, hoping that the baby would be a boy. A girl, she would have to send away to keep safe. But Ra’s wanted an heir and also a hook into the Bat’s territory. He didn’t shy away from the long game– the years were so short to him. If the baby was a boy, then, then she would secure her place.

That went about as well as planning _anything_ in opposition to Ra’s went. It hadn’t even been a desire to move against him– its only flaw was that it hadn’t been Ra’s own plan.

He had taken Damian very young, did his best to keep them apart, until frantic with fear she had spent every second of their time together dropping hints about his father and teaching him how to wield a sword. If she couldn’t keep him from Ra’s, she could at least arm him, and equip him to defend himself.

Ra’s tests, she knew, could be deadly. Her only hope was that Ra’s clearly didn’t want to destroy Damian, merely mold him. He had too much invested in Damian to ever maim or kill him.

The second she had an opportunity, she took Damian and fled, to the one place that would shelter him and destroy her.

When she presented him to Bruce, she watched his stony expression as he put the puzzle pieces together in the span of a second. Damian’s age, the same cowlick Bruce had in his hair echoed above Damian’s brow, Talia’s careful reserve.

He would protect Damian. She expected nothing less.

He would never forgive her for keeping them apart, for lying to him.

It was the price for being a woman in their world.

All she wanted now was to be secure enough that Ra’s would at least keep his distance. If she had his trust, his faraway support, then maybe she wouldn’t hear his voice and jump to obey. Maybe she wouldn’t have to yield to him, to stay alive. She was tired of the pressure and he didn’t deserve the shame and ingratitude if she faltered.

When she’d made her case for the new move, he had nodded and then made it sound like it had been his plan all along. Talia accepted this, too, with a weariness that she had to hide. At least she would be away from him. At least she would be closer to her son, should he need her protection. That was all she felt she deserved to offer him.

The assassins shouldn’t have been a surprise.

There ought to have been a third, she thought, based on past experience. Maybe her father was going easy on her, though she couldn’t imagine why.

They wouldn’t attack in public, so she had gone with Jimmy Olsen to a strange noodle shop still open at 2 in the morning. She had, to her own surprise, enjoyed his company. It calmed her, listening to him talk, and he’d been more solicitous that she’d expected.

But the truth was that she was like her father: she used people. It was harder this time, to push the guilt away, but she had gone with him because she was tired and hungry and his civilian presence offered a brief refuge from any further attacks.

She had no intention of finding him again.

Even if he had made her smile.

* * *

Shrill ringing dragged Jimmy from deep sleep. His hand reached out to pat around on the bedside table, searching. He snagged his phone and pressed it to his ear, still half-asleep and buried in blankets.

“’ello?”

“Jimmy, where the fuck are you,” Lois Lane hissed.

“In bed,” Jimmy said, before his brain caught up to him. He rolled and squinted at the clock. Eight oh six. So, he wasn’t late, not really– and he had no idea where else he was supposed to be.

“Didn’t you get my email? My texts? The two voicemails?” Lois snarled. “LexCorp called a press conference for 8:25 to announce their new CEO. Get your ass out of bed and to the LexCorp west plaza.”

“Oh, heck,” Jimmy exclaimed, rolling out of bed and hunting around for a pair of clean pants. He stumbled, climbing into them while hopping across the floor. “See you in ten, gotta go!” he yelled at the phone, before tossing it on the bed.

When he tumbled out of the cab, fifteen minutes later, he had two cameras on him, his press pass, a clean shirt, and by some miracle had enough cash in his pocket for fare. His wallet was at home, sitting on a counter where he’d forgotten it.

Lois was waiting with a cup of coffee.

“Ten minutes,” she said, handing him the coffee.

“There was construction,” he said. He drank the coffee like he was dying of thirst, while Lois frowned at him and tried smoothing his hair into place. He paused to breathe. “Thanks, mom.”

“I will throw the rest of that in your face,” Lois warned.

They filed into the press room with a minute to spare.

“How was your date?” Lois asked, in a whisper. She was typing on her tablet at the same time.

“Uh,” Jimmy said, as his work-brain panic faded into the background and events from the previous night flooded back. A dead body– two bodies. Talia sitting beside him, eating noodles. A kiss on his cheek. He reached up, dazed, to put a hand on the spot.

Lois glanced at him.

“That bad?”

“No, no,” Jimmy whispered hastily. “It was…strange.”

“For you, that’s saying something,” Lois said, which Jimmy felt was a bit unfair coming from Superman’s wife. “Strange how?”

“I dunno,” Jimmy said. He checked the batteries on one of the cameras. “Good?”

“Are you asking me?” Lois asked.

Jimmy didn’t reply because LexCorp’s head of PR had taken the small stage, in front of the podium originally set up for Lex, and begun speaking. Jimmy tuned most of it out while prepping settings on his camera. It was the standard spiel and Lois would take notes of anything important.

He looked around the room, gauging light sources and strength.

Talia was standing at the edge of the room. There was no trace of the cut on her face, or the bruise– it was an excellent makeup job. He stared, hands stilled on his camera. She hadn’t noticed him.

Then, the words filtered into his comprehension, just as Talia stepped forward.

“…CEO of LexCorp, Ms. Talia al Ghul!”

There was some applause as she took the podium with a calculated smile– not too bright, not cruel, just confident enough.

“Well, this just got interesting,” Lois said, sounding genuinely surprised and suspicious.

“I’d say,” Jimmy stammered, flushing red. “Wow.”

The opening statement was brief. Anyone in PR could have written it. Something something corporate care, responsibility, future, vision. Jimmy couldn’t stop staring. He remembered, belatedly, to haul a camera up and snap a few shots.

The floor was opened for press questions and Talia al Ghul carefully, deliberately didn’t accept a single one from Lois Lane. When she left the room with voices still calling queries after her, a few gave Lois wary, sideways glances– the snub hadn’t been overlooked by the paranoid, hyper-alert press.

They left together, Lois cursing under her breath and Jimmy half jogging to keep up. She had her phone pressed to her ear before they got to the sidewalk.

“No, Perry, that’s all there is. So what if the Gazette already has a piece up. They think this is just a run of the mill announcement. There’s something else here, and I’m going to find it. Just put up the brief and Jimmy’s–”

Lois snapped her fingers for his attention and he met her eyes. She gestured with her chin to the cameras and mouthed _send one in_.

“–pictures. It’ll be there in a second.”

“I forgot my phone,” Jimmy said in a hushed voice. “I can’t–”

Lois shoved her tablet into his hands with an annoyed look that said something like _how do you forget a phone_ , which really wasn’t that scathing coming from her. She always had two on her, minimum.

Jimmy pressed the wake button and spun the tablet around for her to enter the password. He looked off down the street while she did so, talking to Perry the entire time, and he wondered if anyone would even believe him about the date now.

A few minutes later, after some awkward juggling of camera and tablet and tapping bluetooth buttons and trying to navigate Lois’ hell of an email app after she told him point blank not to sign her out of anything, he managed to send two decent pictures. Lois steered him toward a cab and shoved him in.

“I don’t like this,” Lois said, bluntly.

“The cab?” Jimmy asked, distracted.

“No, the CEO appointment,” Lois said.

“Who is she?” Jimmy asked, feeling the red creep into his ears again. “You know her, right?”

“I do,” Lois confirmed, tapping her fingers on her knee. She typed rapidly on her phone and Jimmy yawned despite the jolt he’d gotten. He had gone to bed _late_.

The cab stopped outside the Planet and Lois waved her phone over a box by the driver seat and climbed out of the car with a quick thanks. Jimmy trotted to keep up.

“We need to make a phone call,” Lois said. “Go find an empty office.”

Jimmy nodded and led the way.

“This one is still empty, I think, since Hammond moved. There was some problem with the lighting and he’d put a hole in one of the walls so they were fixing it up but then the elevator broke that one day last week and the men’s bathroom on eighth flooded and the water damaged the ceiling and walls in the lifestyle offices and one of the conference rooms on the seventh floor, so it got back burnered and anyway nobody’s moved in yet unless someone took it after six last night.”

Lois didn’t interrupt his running commentary but she also was typing on her phone the entire time. Jimmy knew she’d heard every word.

Once inside the abandoned office, she locked the door and threw herself into the chair. She unplugged the office phone and dropped her cell on the desk with a call going through. It stopped ringing.

“Bruce, you’re on speaker. I have to send some emails while we talk.”

“There’s someone else with you,” a man’s voice said in greeting.

“It’s just Jimmy,” Lois said. “So, did you know about this? And why didn’t I?”

“Talia,” the voice said, asking without inflection.

“I’m guessing you saw,” Lois said. “If you didn’t already know.”

“I did not,” he said.

Jimmy pretended he was cleaning a lens.

“How long have Lex and the al Ghuls been in bed together?” Lois asked. “And what the _fuck_ is their game?”

“You seem to think I keep tabs on my exes,” the man said.

That was the moment Jimmy processed that the man on the phone was Bruce Wayne. He made a strangled noise. Lois cast him a briefly confused and concerned glance.

“Yeah, because you do,” Lois said. “Especially when it’s the mother of your son.”

Jimmy tried and failed to bite back a moan. He sank into a hard plastic chair, his hands gripping a camera until his knuckles were white.

“Are you alright,” Bruce asked, with just a hint of concern.

“I’m fine,” Lois said. “That was Jimmy. Jimmy, if you pass out I’ll throw ice water in your face.”

“Normally, threats don’t prevent medical emergencies,” Bruce said.

“Oh, what do you know about normal,” Lois complained, looking at Jimmy still. “He’s fine.”

Jimmy jammed his knuckles in his mouth and something like a dying whale song escaped his throat.

“That doesn’t sound fine.”

“Bruce,” Lois said, with the longsuffering tone of someone trying to wrestle a conversation back to a point. “Was this on your radar _at all_ , and if not, will you please look into any connections on your end? I can hit Lex pretty hard but finding Ra’s is a job and a half. I’ve managed to track him down _once_. What do they want? What did Lex offer them, or what did they offer Lex? I don’t like this and I don’t like not knowing. Clark’s going to want to know, too, if this is likely to blow up in our faces.”

“I’ll get back to you,” Bruce said, and there was a click.

“Jimmy?” Lois demanded, rounding on him.

“Oh my god, _that_ Talia al Ghul,” Jimmy said, putting his head between his knees. He took a long breath and then another. “That’s why there were _assassins_.”

“Assassins?” Lois said with obvious alarm.

“No, no, don’t worry,” Jimmy said, still bent over. “They’re dead now.”

“Jimmy, _where_?” Lois asked.

“The hotel last night,” he moaned. “Don’t talk to me, I’m having a crisis.”

“They came after you?” Lois asked, sitting in the chair across from him. She’d put down her tablet. Her brow was creased in concern. “Which hotel?”

“No,” Jimmy groaned. “It’s just my luck I had to go fall in love with Talia al Ghul.”

“What?” Lois snarled, eyes wide.

Jimmy went on. “Because that’s what it is, isn’t it? I’ve never felt that way about someone before, and she was eating noodles and I kept thinking, _I’d marry her right now if I could_ , and that’s how my dad said he knew about my mom, not that they were a _great_ example but they weren’t the worst either. But she only told me her name was Talia and I didn’t even ask for more because she doesn’t like questions, and that’s why she wouldn’t let me take her picture at the gala last night because they were keeping it under wraps that she was in town and _I’ve_ never seen any pictures of her before so how would I know, except she looks like Damian and once she even said something and it sounded familiar and I just realized it’s because of how he complained about the Pokémon cereal I smuggled over for Jon and–”

“Jimmy,” Lois said sharply, so sharply he stopped. Her voice was gentler after, though not something most people would have recognized as kind. “Take a breath.”

“Did she give you anything,” Lois asked quietly. “A drink, a souvenir, anything.”

“No,” Jimmy said, a bit too loudly. “She tried to make me go away but I insisted on getting her ice.”

Lois looked at the ceiling and blew out a tense breath. Jimmy could have sworn there was an audible click as she put things together. “You took _Talia al Ghul_ on a date? _That’s_ who you were going to meet last night?”

“I didn’t know!” Jimmy defended. “I didn’t know and she’s _gorgeous_ and I couldn’t believe she was giving me the time of day, much less a whole evening!”

“There were _assassins_ and you didn’t call?”

“They were dead by the time I got there! Or, mostly, anyway. Don’t tell anyone I told you. Her father sent them, it was some kind of a test, and I don’t know if I promised not to tell or not. It’s confusing and I didn’t get much sleep and it was one of the best nights of my life except for the part where I threw up.”

Lois put her face in her hands.

Jimmy exhaled noisily and steeled himself.

“Do you think it was just to get information?” he asked, hoping she’d dismiss his fears.

“I don’t know. What did she ask you?”

“Uh, what I thought of LexCorp. But we barely talked about that, it was only a little. Oh, and how long I’ve been working with you.”

Lois was giving him a Look. Jimmy dug his heels in.

“No,” he said, deciding. “She was tired and hungry and I told her I was worried about her. It was a real date. She didn’t even know who I was, really. Trust me.”

“Alright,” Lois said, sounding as if she didn’t believe him but was willing to let it go for now. “We have some hunting to do. I can start with arranging a meeting with Lex in prison.”

Her phone, still on the desk, vibrated noisily, skimming across the surface. She picked it up and her eyebrows raised.

“LexCorp’s Sheldon Walershyk wants to know if I’m free for an exclusive profile of Talia, this afternoon.”

Lois typed and Jimmy ran a hand through his hair.

“When we get there,” he said, “ _please_ don’t tell her what I said. I don’t want to scare her off. She said she might call me.”

“She’s Damian’s mother,” Lois said flatly.

“She’s a person,” Jimmy said. “A person I _like_ , a lot. For right now.”

Lois sighed, a sigh that meant _I’ll let Clark fight this one for me_. “Okay. My lips are sealed. But you might want to invest in some window locks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spent a lot of time agonizing over how to handle Talia and Damian. I nearly edited the second chapter to remove Jon, thinking that it would be easier to write this story without the youngest two involved at all.
> 
> But I love writing Jon and Jimmy, and eventually I decided I'd rather let Talia work through trauma and also minimize her culpability where I could. This isn't an excuse or apologetics for child abuse, and won't be the primary focus of the story, but I think Morrison did her dirty and I _want_ to explore Talia also being trapped, and let the background facts be that she was not directly responsible for a lot of Damian's trauma in a world that also contains kid sidekicks as not-inherently awful. I'm sorry if this makes anyone uncomfortable-- it's genuinely not my intention to "excuse" abuse. But I think Talia deserves a narration where she _isn't the abuser_ because we also give that to Bruce when we discard gross canon. It's cherry-picking and making my own canon, rather than saying standard canon Talia was right. Thank you for reading 💜


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